


i lost all of my innocence

by champagneboyband



Series: let's tell the world || canon compliant [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (louis is cheating on hannah with harry and this talks about the feelings that louis has about that), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Cheating, First Time, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneboyband/pseuds/champagneboyband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis doesn't know it yet, but years from now, he'll still associate Harry with fireworks. Not because of any clichéd reason like the way it feels when they kiss and not because of some overplayed song lyric, but because of this, because of the distant light of sparks flying over the London Eye and the way Harry's face looks when he comes apart in Louis' arms for the first time. For his own private, secret reasons, tucked away in the back of his memory and safe from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, Harry and fireworks will always make sense in Louis' mind.</i>
</p><p>x factor weeks 4-5 || part two of a canon compliant series</p>
            </blockquote>





	i lost all of my innocence

**Author's Note:**

> this...got away from me. clearly. i can't tell if it's incredibly self-indulgent because it's something i've wanted to write for so long or if it's something that people actually want to read but like? the first part of this started out as a short kink meme prompt?? who even am I???
> 
> anyway, thank you to [nitzoditotzo](http://nitzoditotzo.tumblr.com) for being the one to prompt the original fic that this sprang from, and thank you also to everyone for all the great feedback on the first part of this :)) alsooo thank you to [tish](http://theshadytimeline.tumblr.com) for screaming over parts of this with me and for generally being v v supportive. you rock :~)
> 
> okay, so this is the second part of a series that is indeterminately long and canon compliant. my ultimate dream™ as a writer has always been to do a full canon series, all the way through, but this is the first time i've even come close to trying to start one, so we'll see where it goes. as things stand, you don't _really_ need to read the first part to understand what's going on here (tho i'd obviously prefer if you did??) but if you want to it's here [[something so precious about this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4141875)].
> 
> a million times thanks to [nat](http://zimriya.tumblr.com)'s [2010 timeline](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/timeline-2010), to [megan](http://youcancallmeathief.tumblr.com)'s [x factor video masterpost](http://youcancallmeathief.tumblr.com/post/83199145607/1d-video-masterlist-x-factor-2010), and also to my own brain for having a knack for remembering weirdly specific details and events, those were all super helpful in writing this.
> 
> title from ray lamontagne's “[hannah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CfWrsd97Mw)”, because subtlety is neither mine nor [harry's](https://twitter.com/harry_styles/status/24396437014) strong suit.
> 
> series title from eric hutchinson's “[tell the world](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZ2_tOoefyU)”, because im at least 85% sure that that song is actually about harry and louis lmao
> 
>  **disclaimer** – this contains fictional representations of real people and fictionalized accounts of real events. none of the ideas present in this story are true, and i receive no financial benefit from writing this. i claim no ownership of or affiliation with any of the people or brands presented here.

They make it through the third round of cuts, and they all start to feel a bit less like they're just barely hanging on by the skin of their teeth.

The double eliminations at the start of lives had left everyone feeling jittery and unsettled, five acts out of sixteen cut in the swift passing of three weeks, a brutal pace by any standard but especially when they're just starting out, ten people stumbling and being sent home straight out of the gate. There's still a weird sort of urgency running through the lot of them, and Louis can feel it buzzing just under the surface of his skin whenever he thinks too long about how fragile this whole thing really is for them, how easily it could be ripped from their hands, but it's more subdued than before. It feels less like life or death, basically, and more like they're finally starting to have fun with it.

They go on a big publicity-driven outing to the London Dungeons the week of Halloween, paparazzi and television cameras shoved in their faces the whole way through, and Harry clings tight to his hand in the darkness of the haunted house, some semblance of privacy among the chaos of costumed monsters and Niall's nervous fidgeting. Louis kisses him that night, long and slow and drawn out as he covers Harry's body with his own in the tight space of their bunk, quiet gasps pressed into his neck as Harry gets a hand around him under the sheets, teeth sunk into his shoulder to stifle his groan as he comes so hard he sees stars, hips jerking down and trying desperately not to wake the other three boys.

He gets to crowd up behind Harry the night after that at the Tinie Tempah gig they all go to as a group, a show that Louis sort of can't believe he's attending, just because it's not something he would ever go to on his own if he didn't have publicists and PAs dictating his every move. He gets bored and distracted during the concert, busies himself with sucking a mark behind Harry's ear as the music vibrates through his body, and the way Harry moves against him – trying to grind back but endearingly uncoordinated about it – sets his teeth on edge in the best way possible.

It's strange, and it's hectic, and everything is flying by so fast that they can barely even keep up, but Harry keeps Louis grounded like an anchor, the quiet peace at the end of the day when Louis' feeling burnt out and exhausted from putting on too much of a show, from the push to be  _ on _ and entertaining and loud whenever the cameras are rolling. Which they are, constantly, it seems.

“If we make it through this week and next, we'll be on the tour,” Harry tells him late Friday night as Louis' fingers pet over his bare stomach, curled up against each other with Harry's back pressed to his chest. He shifts his head against Louis' arm where it's stretched out across the pillow, sleepy snuffle pressed into his skin. “I was thinking about it this afternoon, and like...can you imagine? If we actually got to tour? That would be crazy.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees quietly, eyes falling shut as he buries his nose in Harry's hair. “We'd have to deal with Niall's farts for three more months, though. Maybe we should just throw it, get kicked out on purpose.”

Harry breathes a laugh, swatting at the arm that's draped across his waist before sliding his hand down to cover Louis' with his own, lacing their fingers together and bringing their hands up to tuck them under his chin.

“I think three more months of you might make it worth it,” Harry says in a hushed, shy voice, and Louis' heart skips a beat in his chest.

  
  


Liam wakes them early the next morning, just like he always does on Saturdays. Saturdays are performance days, and performance days mean 7AM rehearsals. At least, Louis' coming to learn that that's what they mean when you're in a band with Liam Payne. Louis wonders whether Liam has any interests  _ besides _ this, if he ever just cuts loose, lets his hair down and takes a day off from his one-man quest to beat everyone in the world to the top of the charts. Privately, he wonders if he'll ever hear Liam speak in anything other than pep talks and well-rehearsed, media-friendly sound-bytes.

He grumbles with his face smushed in Harry's curls as he feels Liam prodding at his back, nervous light touches that mostly just serve to irritate him.

“ I'm not drinking more olive oil,” he says without opening his eyes, tugging Harry closer in protest. “I don't care if it  _ is _ good for my throat. It's not breakfast, and I stand by that.”

“No, it's – ” Liam says, and Louis can practically picture him standing there, fidgety and unsure, trying hard not to stare at the way that Harry's legs are tangled up with his at the end of the bed. “It's not that. You really... Louis, you need to get up.”

“And why would I do that?” Louis asks him, voice flat as he rubs his cheek against Harry's hair, enjoying the way the little ringlets tickle against his face. He can feel Harry stirring against him, pulling from sleep, and Louis doesn't want that. He wants to just stay curled like this for the next hour at least.

“Because, well...erm...” Liam clears his throat awkwardly, lowering his voice to a careful undertone. “Your girlfriend is here.”

That, well... _ that _ gets Louis to open his eyes. He inhales sharply, arm stiffening against Harry as his stomach drops, raw ball of anxiety settling itself deep in his chest. He pulls his hand from Harry's grasp, jerking away suddenly enough that Harry kicks out at him on instinct, sleepy grunt making it harder for Louis to clear his head as he struggles up to sit, gaze darting around the room.

“ She's not like,  _ here _ here,” Liam tells him then in a calming voice, though it does nothing to slow Louis' racing heart. “She's in the kitchen? Erm, she showed up about ten minutes ago. She came for the weekend, said she wanted to surprise you. I guess you didn't know she was coming?”

“No, I didn't bloody well know she was coming,” Louis hisses, throwing a glare at Liam that makes him take a full step back, hands raised in defence. Louis scrubs a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I'm...sorry, just – ” He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, corners of his mouth turned down as he feels his temple begin to throb. “Thanks for telling me. I guess...give us ten minutes? Tell her I'll be out soon. Tell her I'm still sleeping, whatever, make something up if you have to.”

“Right, yeah,” Liam says, nodding to himself like he's taking it all in. He starts for the door then pauses, turning back to stare at Louis sitting there in the bed, dazed look on his face as Harry rubs a hand across one eye, just beginning to wake. “We'll keep her occupied as long as we can,” he says then. “Give you two a bit to...y'know. For what it's worth, I want you guys to be okay.”

Louis swallows heavily, sudden lump in his throat, and he thinks that's probably the first genuine thing that Liam's ever said to him.

“Thanks, Li,” he says quietly, and he means it.

He waits until Liam has left the room, waits for the door to click closed behind him, before he turns to stare at Harry stretched out next to him. He rolls over in the bed as Louis watches, chasing the warmth of Louis' body and curling up like a kitten against his leg, all loose-boned and cuddly with sleep, and Louis can practically hear his own heart break. It's not that he'd  _ forgotten _ he had a girlfriend, not exactly, and it's not like Harry doesn't know. Harry's known since day one. It was a capital m Moment for them when Harry stayed the night at Louis' big house in Doncaster back in September, the first time they ever did anything more than kiss each other, the first time Louis had felt the weight of Harry in his hand, big and heavy and overwhelming.  _ I don't care that you're dating her _ , Harry had said that night.  _ That's probably shit of me, but I honestly don't care _ .

Still.

Louis thinks Harry probably didn't care in the abstract, didn't mind when Hannah was just a vague shadow on the horizon, a girl he'd never met who called Louis her boyfriend, claimed him from a distance of three hours away, didn't care as long Harry was the one who actually got to fall asleep next to Louis every night, wake up with him every morning, touch him and kiss him and have him in every important way. Louis thinks Harry might mind a bit more when he has to look Hannah in the eye, smile to her face and make nice while he's struggling to tamp down his own jealousy.

“Harry,” he says then, pushing a hand back through Harry's hair, brushing curls off his face, and he hates himself a little for how, even now, he can't make himself be anything but gentle with him. “Hazza, wake up. Need to talk to you about something.”

Harry nuzzles into his hand, letting out a soft noise that makes Louis' heart ache as he feels Harry's lips press against the inside of his wrist.

“Wh' time 's it?” Harry asks, cracking open an eye to stare blearily up at Louis, sleepy smile spreading across his face. “G'morning.”

“Hi,” Louis says in a quiet voice, face softening slightly as he feels Harry's toes wiggle against his ankle. “It's around seven, I think.” He pauses, licking his lips nervously. “We need to talk.”

When Harry hears those words – possibly the four worst words you can ever say to someone you're even remotely in a relationship with – the smile slides from his face like butter melting in a pan: slowly, then all at once. His expression drops and he pulls himself up to sit, cross-legged and facing Louis in the cramped space of the bed, back pressed against the wall as he pulls one of Louis' hands into his lap. He frowns down at Louis' fingers, brushing a thumb across his knuckles and letting his shoulders sag a bit so that he looks smaller, hunched-over and tiny in the pale morning light filtering in through the blinds.

“What's wrong?” he asks, and Louis sort of thinks that's part of why he likes Harry so much, the easy way they understand each other. “Are you...is everything okay?”

“Sort of,” Louis says in a whisper. His voice cracks slightly, and he coughs, trying to hide it. “No. I don't know.” He swallows. “Hannah's here.”

Harry's head snaps up, eyes going slightly wide as he stares at Louis. “She's...Hannah's  _ here _ ? As in here, in the house?” Louis nods, and Harry's nails dig into his wrist hard, just for a moment. “Did you know she was coming? Did – you didn't invite her, did you?”

“No, of course I didn't,” Louis says quickly, shaking his head. “Harry, honestly, I had no idea. Baby – ”

“Don't call me that,” Harry says sharply, and Louis feels like he's been slapped, even though Harry's still holding his hand, even though they're still facing each other on the bed. “I don't want to meet her. I don't...please, Lou, don't make me be nice to her.”

“ I can't make you do anything,” Louis says quietly, looking hard at his fingers in Harry's lap. “You knew, though. Harry, you  _ knew _ she existed. You knew this was gonna happen at some point.”

“I know, but I just – ” He drops Louis' hand, covering it instead with his own and pressing it against his leg. “I don't like the idea of some girl kissing my...whatever. My person. You're my person.”

Louis looks up at him then, stares hard at Harry's face, big eyes and cupid-bow lips and overlarge nose, dimples and that place on his jaw where Louis likes to press his fingers in when they kiss because it makes Harry go all loose and pliant in his arms. They haven't had this conversation yet, the one where they talk about what this is, what they are to each other, who they are as a pair. They're friends, best friends, but it's obviously something more than that too. They've just never defined it before, never put a name to it. They've just always sort of...gone with the flow. They do what comes naturally to them, Louis guesses, and that's always been enough.

It  _ had _ been enough, that is, until now. But now isn't really the time to talk about this.

“ You're my person, too,” Louis says, even though it doesn't feel like enough, even though he doesn't even really know what that means. “I want... _ you're _ what I want, okay? Like, you. Just you.” He thinks back to the way he'd shook in Harry's arms that afternoon less than two weeks ago, coming apart as Harry spoke so softly to him, easing him through it, and he remembers the thoughts that had been racing through his head, one long stream of  _ HarryHarryHarry _ , whole body and mind completely consumed by him. He's never felt it like that before, not with Hannah and not with any of the other girls who came before. “You know that, right?”

“I guess,” Harry says quietly. “I mean, yeah, I do, but like...” He looks away, eyes trained on a spot several inches above Louis' head as he sighs. “That doesn't mean I have to like this.”

“What if we set limits?” Louis asks, reaching forward to run his fingers over Harry's ankle to draw his attention. “Like, I'll only do the things you're comfortable with. Nothing else. It's only for the weekend, and – ”

“You can't have sex with her, if that's what you're getting at,” Harry tells him immediately, gaze zeroing back in on Louis' face sharply.

Louis clears his throat, shifting on the bed. “I don't want to,” he says quietly. “I don't want to have sex with anyone except you. Whenever that...when it actually happens, y'know,  _ that's _ what I want.” He takes Harry's hands in his, pulling them into his own lap this time. It's unlike him, this whole fucking thing, but he just...he melts when it comes to Harry. He can't help it. “Tell me what to do,” he begs, eyes wide and sincere. “Please.”

Harry watches him for a long moment, and Louis can practically see the gears turning in his head, can nearly hear the thoughts running through his mind. It feels like an eternity before Harry blinks away, looking down at their joined hands and wrapping his long fingers around Louis' wrists. 

“Be her boyfriend,” he says, holding on tight. “For two days, just...be hers. But not more than that, and you still have to be mine at night.” Louis hates that he can hear the waver in Harry's voice when he says it again, “You still have to be mine, okay?”

  
  


Louis has the decency, at least, to kiss Harry first.

He presses him up against the bedroom door once he's tugged a t shirt over his head, licks into his mouth and lingers there for longer than he means to. He still can't get over the way Harry kisses him, the way Harry's tongue runs over his like he thinks it's the last time it'll ever happen or something. It's not just because of what's coming – Harry does it like this every time, when they're laying in bed at night or when they're hidden away at dance rehearsals or, once, when they snuck into the shower together early one morning and stayed pressed close under the hot spray of water, hands slipping over wet skin until a sharp knock at the bathroom door broke the spell. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to how Harry kisses him, honestly, doesn't know if he'll ever be able to come up for air again. Somehow, he thinks he might learn to be okay with that.

He leaves Harry in the bedroom, gives him some space to sort things out in his head, gives him a chance to avoid watching Louis greet Hannah like a boyfriend is supposed to.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, really, when he makes his way into the big kitchen of the X Factor house, but it definitely isn't this. He doesn't expect to see Niall and Zayn and Liam, even, fucking  _ Liam _ crowded around Hannah at the table, doing their damnedest to run interference for him, laughing and joking and telling her stories about what's gone on over the past month. He wishes he could thank them, but he also sort of wishes he could tell them it's okay, that they don't have to try so hard.

It's not like Hannah's some unknown intruder, after all. Well, she is, sort of, into this thing he has with Harry, into the beginning of something that feels real and huge and important. But she's  _ Hannah _ . She's the girl he's known for nearly half a decade, the one who used to babysit the twins with him just so he wouldn't have to be alone, the girl who helped him cook dinner for all his sisters every time his mum was working a night shift at the hospital and his dad was off on a business trip to Dublin or Paris or somewhere else. She's the one who made sure he got home safe that time he and Stan and Calvin got drunk in a field and thought it would be a good idea to set off fireworks and aim bottle rockets at a tree at three in the morning when they were celebrating the end of A Levels. She didn't even laugh when she found out they were drunk off Strongbow instead of something a bit more manly, like whiskey or even actual beer.

Seeing her again now, sitting at the kitchen table in front of the big sliding glass doors overlooking the sprawling back garden and North London, golden hair shining in the sunlight...it brings all those memories flooding back. It doesn't make him want to give up Harry, doesn't make him want to be with her in the way he used to, but it  _ does _ make him feel hopelessly guilty, that reminder that everything he does with Harry, everything he feels for him...it's all at the expense of hurting another real, breathing human being who he actually cares about a lot.

In a different world, maybe, if he'd never met Harry or hell, if he'd just been born a different person altogether. He thinks he could have been happy with her then. Maybe.

He wants to apologise to her then and there, but that would also mean telling her the truth about why he's been neglecting her so much over the past month. He would have to see her cry and he'd have to admit that he cheated, that he  _ is _ cheating and that he has no real plans to stop. He'd have to tell her that their entire relationship, basically, has been a lie. That he's never felt for her the way she feels for him. It all makes him feel so shitty, but he's honestly just too fucking weak to go through with it.

“Hey,” he says instead, crossing the room to the kettle in the corner so he can busy his hands with the methodical mindlessness of making tea. “Didn't expect to see you here. What made you decide to come down?”

“ That's all I get after a month, just  _ hey _ ?” she asks, but her tone is playful and not at all accusatory. Louis feels his stomach twist. “Your bandmates were telling me about how crazy things have been. Sounds like it's been insane. I can't blame you for not calling more often.”

“Yeah, we were just saying,” Niall says, nervous laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Rehearsals all hours, no time to text. I haven't even talked to me mam in about two weeks.”

That's a lie, and a blatant one at that. Louis knows for a fact that Niall spent an hour Skyping with his mum just last night, but he's grateful nonetheless. He blows a cool stream of air over the hot mug clutched between his hands, crossing his bare toes on the cold linoleum floor.

“I've been slacking, I know,” Louis says quietly. “Sorry.”

“It's not a big deal, I get it,” she says easily, and part of him wishes she wasn't so nice. She stands from her seat and moves toward him, sunny smile on her face and hands smoothing down the folds of her skirt. Her voice is quieter, more private, when she says, “I did miss you, though. Just for the record.”

Louis swallows heavily around the guilt rising up in his throat as he sets his tea down on the counter next to him. He reaches out for her because that's what he's supposed to do, that's what she  _ expects _ , and his heart is racing unpleasantly in his throat as she sways forward to kiss him. 

It's not...the press of her lips against his isn't  _ bad _ , doesn't turn his stomach or make him want to shrink from her hold, but it doesn't do anything for him either. It never has, if he's honest, even though he used to try to pretend to himself that it did, used to imagine that this is what it was supposed to feel like, that this is how every  _ normal _ boy felt when he kissed his girlfriend. It's just, now that he's had Harry, now that he knows how good it can be, kissing Hannah feels a bit like kissing his nan.

It wouldn't be a big deal, would be over and done with no problem, except for the fact that of course that's the moment that Harry chooses to make his entrance into the kitchen with Cher laughing about something at his side. Louis' eyes open when he hears her cackle die in her throat, just in time to see her stop in her tracks, staring at Louis in blank surprise as Harry brushes past them all without so much as a second glance.

He pulls away from Hannah, fidgeting under her hands as he feels the warm stretch of Harry's arm reach around behind him for the kettle. Cher's still looking at him like he's grown a second head or something, and he sort of wishes she would be less  _ obvious _ about it, but he has no real way of explaining anything to her right now, so he just takes a deep breath in and says,

“This is my...my girlfriend, Hannah.”

Hannah turns in front of him, spinning around to grin at Cher with her hand stretched out. “It's so great to meet you,” she says, voice bright. “Big fan. I mean, I'm voting One Direction, obviously, but your songs are always so fun.”

“Pleasure,” Cher says in that way she does, eyeing Hannah up and down with a raised eyebrow. “So you're Louis' girlfriend. We've all heard so much about you.” She gives Louis a pointed look. “Harry especially, I'm sure. Those two are proper close. Bet they talk about everything.”

“Oh, yeah, I...” Hannah trails off, looking around until she finds Harry where he's seated at the table, staring hard into his corn flakes. “It's nice to meet you too, by the way. Finally.”

Harry's eyes flicker up to bore into Louis', just for a second, before he blinks away and looks to Hannah. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, and Louis feels the corners of his mouth turn down at the tone of his voice, twisted and slightly off-pitch. He doesn't think anyone else notices it, only notices himself because he's so in tune with the way that Harry's supposed to sound. “Nice to see you.”

Breakfast passes in a blur after that, and Louis feels a bit like he's being attacked on all sides, sitting there with Hannah's hand on one knee and Harry's curled high up on the thigh of his other leg, possessive fingers digging into the inseam of his sweats. Cher spends the whole time throwing him not-quite-covert glares over her orange juice because she doesn't know the whole story, doesn't know that Harry  _ knew _ , and they're the babies of the competition, both just barely sixteen and ridiculously protective of each other because of that fact. Niall stress laughs his way through two plates of eggs while Zayn goes quiet and Liam – much to Louis' grateful surprise – manages to carry the bulk of the conversation as more and more people filter in and out of the room, the whole house beginning to wake up.

He manages to beg off any “private time” with Hannah by mumbling something about rehearsals and house rules – excuses that sound flimsy to his own ears but are actually based in fact; he really  _ does _ need to get to the studio, and there's a firm policy in place that says guests aren't allowed past the common areas – and she's happy to oblige, says she'll explore London on her own for the afternoon while he rehearses. He lets her peck him on the lips once before he slips away to get dressed for the day.

He collapses back against the door of the bathroom with a heavy exhalation of breath once he's finally alone, head spinning and stomach churning uneasily. He sort of can't believe he made it through that alive, but he has a feeling that Harry's going to be out for blood if this goes on much longer. That or he'll want to suck him off in the loo or something before they go onstage tonight just so he can have the satisfaction of going on national television like that, staring down the lens of a camera with the taste of Louis still on his tongue.

Either way gets the job done, he supposes.

  
  


When the five of them clamber into the van to head for the studio thirty minutes later, showered and shaved and starting to vibrate with the energy of an upcoming performance, Harry plops himself right down into Louis' lap unceremoniously, curls his knees into the small space and wraps an arm around Louis' shoulders to balance himself like that's the most normal thing in the world, even though there are at least two empty seats left in the car. 

Louis doesn't comment on it, and the other three boys are generous enough to follow his lead.

Dress rehearsals and sound checks pass them in a haze, busy chaos of show day sweeping them all up and not leaving much room for any of them to dwell on much else besides the music. Louis' grateful for that, likes the way he can let his brain shut itself off for a few hours as he lets himself be pushed and directed in one way or another, first through choreography and staging and then into wardrobe. He shoves his headphones in his ears and zones out to the sound of Bruno Mars while the bleached blonde makeup artist paints fake blood and scratches across his face. Lou, he thinks her name is. Harry would probably know. Harry always knows everyone's names. But Harry isn't really talking to him right now, not more than what's necessary for them to keep up appearances. He guesses that's fair, all things considered.

The mixed messages are turning his head a bit, though, if he's honest. Harry's  _ not _ talking to him, but he is clinging closer to Louis' side than what's normal, crowding up into his space every chance he gets and getting them in trouble with the costume department when they come back from the toilets ten minutes before cameras are meant to go live, looking rumpled and decidedly less than picture perfect. No one puts a name to it, because Hannah's arrived by then, but literally everyone involved in the production knows what they were up to. It's obvious in Harry's satisfied smirk, in the way his hair is pulled out and mussed, the dust on his knees.

Louis sort of has to wonder at that point if Hannah really has no idea or if she's just intentionally ignoring what's going on.

  
  


In the end, their performance is pitchy and mediocre at best, but they can't even hear the judges' comments over the screams of the crowd, so whatever. Maybe they'll be okay after all.

  
  


They are, and once Sunday night rolls around, everyone is in much better spirits.

Everyone, that is, except Harry, who spends the entirety of the after-show party glowering at Hannah sat in Louis' lap from across the room. Harry had continued not speaking to him last night, to the point where Louis had seriously considered sleeping in his own bunk for once like he was a husband being thrown out to kip on the couch after a domestic spat over the washing up. Part of him wants to stomp his feet and protest that  _ Harry knew, he knew what he was getting into, this isn't fair _ , but the other, more rational part of him makes him feel utterly sorry for putting Harry – and, unknowingly, Hannah as well – through this whole mess.

(Harry hadn't made him sleep in his own bed after all, just tugged him down onto the mattress in stony silence and rolled over to face the wall, leaving Louis to curl up against his back meekly. Louis' starting to learn that Harry can be very hot and cold when he wants to be.)

It's not until Hannah bends to speak into his ear that Harry finally snaps, stands from his seat and crosses the room in three swift steps.

“I need to talk to you,” he says in a dangerously low voice, and Louis' smart enough that he obeys instantly, makes an excuse to Hannah and leaves her in the chair, lets Harry tug him from the room and down the hall in search of a closet.

Harry's on him as soon as the door's swung shut, and it's all Louis can do to keep himself in check as he struggles to get his arms around the writhing mess of boy pinning him to the wall in the dark, cramped space, Harry tugging at the collar of his scoop neck to sink sharp teeth into his collarbone.

“Harry, what – ” Louis starts, but Harry rocks against him just then, hard cock pressing into his hip and fingers grappling at his waist.

“ You're  _ mine _ ,” Harry tells him firmly, pushing his hands up under Louis' shirt and rutting up against him again. “She doesn't get to have you, okay? Not anymore.” He slides his hands around Louis' waist, fingers digging into his sides as he hauls him closer. “I thought I could do it, but I can't. I don't want her here anymore.”

“ Yeah, yeah, I – ” He cuts himself off on a breathy moan as he feels the push of Harry's cock against his, but he forces himself to focus, fingers threading back through Harry's curls to tug his head up from where he's attached himself to Louis' neck. “Look at me, hey. I don't want her to have me,” he says, swiping a thumb over Harry's cheek where he's cupping his face in both hands to calm him, angling him up so he's forced to meet Louis' eye. “I want  _ you _ , okay? Just you. It's us, you and me, that's what counts, yeah?”

“ I'm...I don't like the way she's touching you,” Harry says then, quietly, swallowing hard and blinking away to stare at a spot several inches above Louis' head. “That's meant to be  _ me _ doing those things. Everyone already knows anyway, Lou.” He fidgets in Louis' grasp, big hands coming up to cling tight to Louis' wrists, licking his lips nervously, insecure, and Louis just can't help thinking how  _ young  _ he looks right now. “Why won't you just break up with her already? Y'know, get it over with.”

“I just can't,” Louis says, voice soft, and he's so, so sorry. “I don't...it's complicated, okay?”

And it is, it's really fucking complicated, because everyone  _ doesn't _ know, and those who do...they're not all okay with it. Louis knows that he'll probably never live in a world where everyone accepts him for who he is, knows that no one, no matter who they want to have sex with, really gets that luxury. It's a pipe dream, probably, but he just wishes things were a bit less intense for them right now. It's enough that people assume, that they call him names he'd rather not repeat, a word that stings like knives because he heard it one too many times growing up before he learned to throw a punch. If it were just anonymous teenagers on the internet, he doesn't think it would bother him as much, but it's not. He hears it in his friends' mouths, too, not directed at him but just in general, and he doesn't know how they'd react if...

Whatever, he hasn't even told his mum yet.

“What about...what if when the show ends,” he says, heart racing in his throat, because this isn't a promise that he's sure he can keep, and he really tries not to make those, especially when Harry's looking so desperate and earnest, clearly hurting right in front of his eyes. “Whenever that is for us, if it's next week or if it's in December, I don't care. When things quiet down a bit, I'll break up with her then, okay?” He pauses, gaze darting around Harry's face. “It won't be like this forever.”

  
  


Hannah eventually leaves, of course, catches an early train the next morning back to Leeds where she's two months into her first year at uni. Louis feels guilty watching her go, partly because he hates lying to the people he cares about but also because he hates what her presence did to Harry. He thinks he should probably feel more guilty about the fact that he's cheating on his actual girlfriend with a boy he only just barely knows, but he  _ knows _ that the churning ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach has more to do with the way that Harry's eyes had darkened and clouded over as he watched Louis kiss her goodbye, and then he feels guilty all over again for not feeling worse about what he's doing behind Hannah's back. It's a mess, basically, and he wishes it would just fix itself while he's not looking.

It doesn't, of course, and he's left to deal with his heavy conscience as the fifth week of live shows swings into full gear.

Harry doesn't mention it at all, doesn't even bring up the hot jealousy that had burned through him on Sunday night when Hannah had plopped herself back down in Louis' lap, casual as anything, oblivious to the way that Louis had shifted beneath her uncomfortably with his eyes trained on Harry's face across the room as he tried to psychically communicate some sort of wordless apology. Harry doesn't mention that, and he doesn't mention the desperate way he'd clung to Louis in the storage cupboard. He's back to talking to Louis now she's gone, back to joking around with him and whispering soft, secret things into his ear, and if Louis didn't know him any better, he'd think Harry had forgotten about the whole thing.

He does, is the problem. He knows Harry better than he probably should at this point.

It's...Harry gets clingy when he's upset, is the thing. Louis' starting to figure that out about him, got the first inkling of it when they were in Marbella back in August, all five of them convinced they were about to be sent home in tears. Harry had tugged Louis away from the group that afternoon before they found out, nervous and fidgety as they made their way down toward the beach, fingers bumping against the back of Louis' hand as they walked. He'd stopped them under a palm tree, pushing up into Louis' space, big hands firm and warm against his hips as he backed Louis into its trunk.  _ I want to kiss you _ , he'd said, all innocent wide eyes and flyaway curls gone wild with the sea spray and humidity.  _ If it ends for us tonight, I don't want to go home without kissing you _ .

And Louis had wanted that too, had wanted it more than he'd probably wanted anything ever, and he'd given in easily, tugging Harry forward by the front of his shirt to press their lips together under the hot Spanish sun. That was the first time he'd ever kissed Harry, the first time he'd ever kissed any boy at all, and he'd known, instantly, like a switch flicking on in his brain as Harry's tongue pushed its way between his teeth – this is what I want, what I've always wanted, this, him, us.

It had scared him at first, how much he'd liked it, but it had also felt good enough that he didn't even really care.

But Hannah's intrusion into their tight little bubble seems to bring that out in Harry again, makes him go all needy and small, pushing up under Louis' hands at even the most inconvenient of times. It's not that Louis  _ minds _ having Harry curled up tight against his side as they watch the dancers rehearse their cheerleading bit for Saturday's performance, doesn't argue when Harry starts settling himself down in Louis' lap every time they watch a film back at the house, slow-blinking and quiet as he shifts against Louis' legs. He likes having Harry close. But he just can't help thinking, every time it happens, that this is Harry's stress response, this is what Harry does when he's angry or sad or nervous beyond explanation. He can't decide what's the right thing to do, force distance between them or just give Harry what he wants.

He spends a few days trying to work through it in his head before he finally cracks and drags Harry into Belle Amie's recently-abandoned room on Thursday night while the cameras are busy filming everyone outside. They can hear the whiz and pop of Bonfire Night fireworks going off outside the window, bare walls illuminating with red and gold light every few seconds as Louis crowds him back against the door, fingers pushing up under the hem of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks in a hushed whisper even as he lets his head fall back against the wooden frame with a heavy thud. “They'll come looking for us.”

“ They've got enough footage already,” Louis tells him, words muffled in his neck, pushing his hips against Harry's. “They'll just cut it all together. No one will even notice.” He scrapes his teeth against Harry's skin, feels the shuddery moan vibrate through Harry's chest as he presses closer. “I want you.  _ Only _ you.”

He starts to back away from the wall, pulling Harry with him by his lapels, and Harry follows easily, stumbling over his own too-big feet as he tries to kiss him and walk at the same time, uncoordinated and over-eager, licking into Louis' mouth as the backs of Louis' knees bump against a bed. They fall backwards onto it, and Louis can't help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of Harry blinking in surprise at finding himself suddenly sprawled out on top of him.

He pushes a hand back through Harry's hair, tugging at his ears with a fond smile on his face.

“You want to?” he asks then, licking his lips.

It's a stupid question, really. Louis  _ knows _ he wants to, can tell just from the way that Harry's already gone half-hard against him in his baggy jeans, pupils blown wide and dark in the dim light of the room. Still, he feels like he should ask, feels like that's probably the right thing to do.

“ I – I mean, yeah, if  _ you _ want to,” Harry says, throat bobbing as he swallows.

His voice is hushed and quiet, barely above a whisper like he's afraid they'll be overheard even though they're hidden away in an empty room, everyone else busy with food and drinks and sparklers. When Louis kisses him, he tastes like orange Ribena and possibilities, and Louis can't help but want more. More, more, more, that's all he ever wants when it comes to Harry.

“I do,” he mutters against Harry's lips, gasping out a quiet noise when he feels Harry shift against him. “I really do. It'll happen this time, I promise.”

“Okay,” Harry says, whispered word breathed out over his lips as he ducks his head to kiss his way down Louis' neck. Louis threads his hand in Harry's curls, winds them through his fingers and sighs, hips angling up off the bed as he feels the sharp nip of teeth against his throat. “Get your top off, okay? I wanna give you a proper mark, but I don't want Lou to yell at me again.”

Louis' eyes flutter shut as he smiles, the weight of Harry overtop of him heavy and secure and solid, safe and certain like nothing else is these days. “You'd think that'd be the whole point of doing the mark,” he says, pressing it against Harry's ear like a secret. “You  _ want _ people to see it. Want people to know you did that.” Harry grunts into his neck, hips jerking down against Louis' involuntarily, and Louis takes his earlobe between his lips, teeth pinching at his skin as he lets one hand slide down Harry's back, fingers tucking under the waistband of his jeans. “Yeah? You want people to know I'm all yours?”

“ _ Louis _ ,” Harry breathes, hands pushing at Louis' shirt, managing to get it halfway off and bunched up under his armpits even as his hips start to rut down against Louis', mindless little thrusts that make Louis spread his legs on instinct. “Please.”

Louis feels like his head’s spinning, like his whole body’s on fire, and he wonders if it’ll always feel this way. He wonders if he’ll always get this hot when it comes to Harry or if it just has to do with the tension built up between them over this, over what feels like some massive, insurmountable hurdle. They’ve tried to do this twice now, never been able to actually get the job done, and it’s... Whatever, he doesn’t know, can’t hardly think right now, but it’s like he’s lost all his control or something, like he can’t contain the heat building up inside him.

“Harry, Haz, stop,” he gasps, fingers digging into Harry’s lower back as Harry’s hips still against his immediately. “Stop.”

“Sorry, did I...was it wrong?” Harry asks, pulling away so he can look down at Louis, unsure expression and worried brow. “Was that weird? It was probably weird.”

Louis’ so turned on he thinks his brain might have already melted in his head, but he still can’t help reaching out for Harry to tug him down and press their foreheads together.

“Stop thinking everything you do is weird,” he says quietly, tugging at Harry’s ears again just to watch him fidget. “You’re not weird. You could probably like, I don’t know, break out the fuzzy handcuffs or something and I wouldn’t think it was weird.” 

“ Is that a promise?” Harry asks with a lopsided grin, and Louis  _ really _ needs to find a way to get over those dimples of his. 

Or not. Either way.

“I didn’t forget that you’re the kinkiest virgin of all time, if that’s what you’re asking,” Louis says, rolling his eyes to hide the way his stomach flutters when Harry snuffles out a laugh against his cheek. “Are you going to have sex with me now, or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“You told me to stop,” Harry says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought you didn’t want to anymore.”

Louis runs a hand back through his hair, warm ball of affection tight in his chest, and he doesn’t know what it  _ means _ , but it’s like he can see the whole world reflected in Harry’s eyes just then. It’s fucking cheesy as hell, and he’d never ever say it out loud no matter how much you paid him, but he feels something permanent and sure settle itself down in his bones as he takes in Harry’s earnest expression. His eyes are greengreengreen in the thin slats of dim light spilling in through the window, and Louis wants to kiss every last ounce of breath out of him.

“I told you to stop because I was about to come in my pants,” Louis says then, and he has no idea how that managed to come out sounding so sweet, but it did, and it’s out there, and whatever, he doesn’t even care. He swipes his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, the tip of Harry’s tongue darting out to taste. “I want to go all the way with you. That’s pretty much all I want right now, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” Harry asks, small smile spreading across his face under Louis’ fingers, and Louis rolls his eyes again.

“Yes really, you pillock,” he says, pinching Harry’s cheek. “Now get off me and go get the stuff so we can get on with it already.”

Harry’s smile grows wider on his face, silly and endearing as he leans down to peck a kiss against Louis’ lips, once, twice, three times before Louis finally laughs and shoves at his shoulder, making him roll off and stand up from the bed, hard cock tenting his loose trousers ridiculously. It takes him a second to sort himself out, tugging his shirt down and running a hand back through his hair, before he flashes Louis another smile, darting out the door and down the hallway.

Louis falls back against the pillows with a shaky, overwhelmed sigh, letting his eyes fall closed. They’re going to do this. They’re actually going to do this. Finally. Part of him wishes it wasn’t under these circumstances, the cloud of Hannah still hanging over their heads, but he’s not really thinking about that right now. It’s not  _ because _ of her that they’re doing it. It’s because of them, because of Harry and the way Louis feels when he’s with him, when he touches his skin and yanks at those stupid curls of his. It’s because of everything that Harry is and means to him, because of the way their bodies melt against each other when they kiss.

Come to think of it, pretty much everything he does these days is because of Harry.

Louis undresses as he waits for him to come back into the room, takes his clothes off slowly, peeling off his shirt and tugging his jeans down, boxers sliding over bony hips. His hands are shaking slightly, but it’s more down to how ready he is for this to finally happen rather than nerves. 

Well, he  _ is _ nervous, if he’s completely honest with himself, but it’s mostly just that this...it’s a first for both of them. It’s Louis’ first time with another boy, but more importantly, it’s Harry’s first time with anyone at all. That part of it scares Louis more than any of the rest of it, that this is Harry’s first time ever. He doesn’t...it’s never been a  _ thing _ for him, hasn’t ever scared him before. He took two girls’ virginity before this and never really thought much about it, but this – it just seems so much bigger, so much more massive than that. 

He doesn’t know why, really, but he knows that it scares him like hell.

Harry comes back into the room just then, closing the door behind himself and locking it. He turns to face the bed and freezes when he sees Louis laying there naked, spread out over the mattress and watching him with careful eyes, and something about the way Harry that stares at him makes Louis’ breath catch in his throat.

He looks young and wild and pulled out standing there next to the bed, curls frazzled and lips red and kiss-swollen as he stares down at Louis for a long moment, his eyes gone slightly wide and his throat bobbing as he swallows

“You’re – ” Harry starts, but he cuts himself off, shaking his head. He makes a small, helpless little sound, licking his lips nervously.

“I’m what?” Louis asks quietly, raising his eyebrows in question.

Harry bites at his bottom lip, a shaky smile breaking through as he drops the pot of Vaseline and a condom onto the mattress, tugging his shirt over his head. He kicks out of his jeans and pants, and Louis licks his lips involuntarily at the sight of his cock bobbing big and swollen in front of him. 

He flops down onto the bed in an uncoordinated mess of limbs, and Louis catches him on instinct, laughing in surprise and spitting curls as Harry settles himself down on top of him. Louis’ hands slide down to rest over the small swell of Harry’s bum and he squeezes the skin there, earning a huffed laugh from Harry as he props himself up on his elbows to stare down at Louis.

“You’re…” Harry says again, trailing off to suck in a shaky breath, nervous laughter quiet in the hushed room. “God, you’re everything I ever wanted. And...and I want you so much. It’s like, scary, kind of, how much I want you.”

Louis swallows heavily, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he’s almost afraid it’s going to break free and rocket out of his ribcage or something, shoot up into the stars and explode like fireworks in the night sky.

“That’s probably the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Louis tells him, but his voice comes out breathless and pitchy and he feels like he could fucking cry right now or something with the way Harry’s looking at him, taking in his face like the entire universe is reflected in his eyes. 

And that’s not something people  _ say _ , not a thing that people fucking say outside of like, a Hugh Grant film or his mum’s romance novels or something, whatever, but Harry just said it. He just...he  _ said _ it, and Louis feels – He doesn’t know  _ what _ he feels right now, but it’s big and it’s massive, and whatever it is, Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure of anything in his entire life.

“But I’m...yeah, I – me too,” Louis says, and it doesn’t feel like enough, feels stuttered and like so little compared to everything that’s going on in his head right now, but Harry gets it. 

Harry always gets it.

His face positively lights up, hands coming up to cup Louis’ cheeks, angling their mouths together for a kiss, tongue pushing in between his lips as he settles himself down on top of Louis. Their legs slot together, one of Harry’s thighs slipping between his, and Louis groans quietly in the back of his throat at the feeling of Harry pressing up against him, skin on skin and so fucking perfect that Louis thinks he might actually die.

His hands thread back through Harry’s curls, holding him in place, and the sound of Harry inhaling a breath through his nose is the only thing Louis can hear. 

“I want you,” Louis tells him when they finally come up for air. His breath is coming in sharp, panting gasps as Harry presses his forehead against Louis’, and Louis has to close his eyes from how intense it all is. “In me. I want you like, yesterday.” 

Harry lets out a small, giddy breath of a laugh, hands leaving Louis’ face to skim down over his sides. His touch is light and ticklish, sends sparks of heat shooting through Louis’ abdomen, and it’s all Louis can do to keep his head on straight as Harry kisses him again, quick and innocent, before sitting back on his heels to stare down at him.

He rakes his nails down the skin of Louis’ torso experimentally, staring at him like they’ve never seen each other naked before, like he’s never touched him before, never tasted him or felt him. His eyes flicker up to meet Louis’ when Louis lets out a soft, impatient sound.

“Okay,” he says finally, his smile soft and dimpled. “I want...yeah, I want that too. I want it a lot.”

“So do something about it, Curly,” Louis teases quietly, raising a leg to poke his toes into the soft pooch of Harry’s stomach. “Get in me already. We don’t have all day, you know.”

Harry just catches him around the calf, raising his leg to press his lips against the inside of Louis’ ankle, eyes locked with Louis’ as Louis laughs under his breath and wiggles his toes in Harry’s hold. 

“I like your feet,” Harry says as Louis rests his ankle against his shoulder, knocking his foot against the side of Harry’s head lightly. “They’re like, pretty? For feet, I mean.”

“First bondage, and now you have a foot fetish?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows as a smile spreads across his face. “You really are the kinkiest virgin of all time, aren’t you?”

“ I don’t have a foot fetish,” Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. He bends forward to reach for the little pot of gel that’s laying next to Louis’ head, and Louis lets out a small noise at the stretch in his thigh as his leg slips up over Harry’s shoulder. “I only like  _ your _ feet. Not like, feet in general. I think it’s just because I like you, mostly.”

“You’re sweet,” Louis says in a soft voice as he taps the arch of his foot against Harry’s head again, chest exploding with sparks as Harry’s smile turns shy.

“Put your other leg up,” Harry tells him, tapping his fingers against Louis’ thigh. “Not like, all the way, but just enough so I can...y’know.”

“Finger me,” Louis says bluntly, and Harry sticks his tongue out teasingly, so ridiculous and out of place that Louis has to laugh. He closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing around the ball of nerves in his throat and planting his foot on the mattress, keeping his other ankle hooked up over Harry’s shoulder so that his hips are angled up off the bed. He lets out a long, slow breath, trying to focus, before he nods his head on the pillow. “It’ll happen this time, I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Harry tells him, but his tone is light and teasing as he uses his fingers to rub Vaseline over Louis’ rim. 

Louis swallows, biting his lip as Harry starts to slide one finger in. “Yeah, well last time, you came before you could even get it in, so,” he says, voice gone slightly off-pitch at the feeling of being stretched open like this.

“Hey, you came first,” Harry says in that tone he gets when he’s fake-insulted (or when he’s real-insulted but trying not to show it...Louis’ pretty sure this is the latter). “We got close last time, though.”

“This time we’re going to get more than close,” Louis says matter-of-factly, breath hitching as he feels Harry move his finger in and out a few times. “We’ll get like, I don’t know, closest. Closer than closest.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

Louis gives a cut-off laugh. “Kind of hard to concentrate on witty banter when you’ve got a finger in me,” Louis tells him, arching an eyebrow and poking his toes at the curve of Harry’s ear under his hair. “Sorry if I’m not up to scratch.”

“D’you want me to stop talking?” Harry asks, gaze flickering to Louis’ face unsurely. “Is that like...is it weird to talk so much?”

“No, it’s helping me to not think about what you’re doing down there,” Louis says, licking his lips as he shifts his hips slightly, accommodating the sudden stretch of a second finger. “If I think about it too much, I’ll come way too early again.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “Yeah, alright. That makes sense, I guess.”

But his voice still sounds unsure, and Louis frowns at the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Hey, it's me, okay?” Louis says, because he gets it, sort of. This might be a Big and Serious step, but that doesn’t mean that they have to be. Harry’s still just a kid, really. So is Louis, for that matter. “It’s just me. You're fine. Whatever you do, I'm gonna like it. And you’re not weird.”

“Right,” Harry says, nodding to himself and letting out another shaky breath. “Yeah, you're right. I'm okay. Sorry, just...nervous.”

“Get on with it then,” Louis says. “That's how you get over nerves. You’ve got to jump in head first.”

“ That's how  _ you _ get over nerves,” Harry corrects, offering Louis a crooked smile as he scissors his fingers apart carefully. “I just choke, usually.”

“Well, then try not to choke,” Louis tells him. “Although, knowing you, you might actually be into that.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, big and loud and almost startling with how sudden it is, and the nerves melt away from his face, relaxing into a happy smile that catches on beams of moonlight, his artificially television-white teeth reflecting the soft glow of fireworks outside the window. He pulls his fingers out and rubs more gel over them, other hand sliding up the back of Louis’ thigh as he pushes them back in with a third finger added.

“I might be,” Harry tells him, suddenly bold and unabashed and normal, like they’re discussing the weather instead of the possibility of Louis choking him during sex. “Who knows? I’ve never tried it before.”

“We’ll add it to the list,” Louis says, pressing his lips together as he settles into the stretch of Harry’s wide, broad fingers pushing into him. It’s a lot, but it’s nothing he hasn’t taken before, and he knows how good it’ll feel once he gets used to the feeling of being filled up like this. He tries to keep his mind from straying too far, though, doesn’t want to get himself worked up again and come before they can actually get the job done. “Not that I have a list, but.”

“I do,” Harry says, spreading his fingers apart inside Louis to make more room. “I’ve got a list of stuff I want to try. Y’know, someday. With you.”

“You made a sex list?” Louis asks him, raising his eyebrows, not quite able to keep the laugh out of his voice. “Like, a proper bucket list of kinky sex stuff?”

“Not like, written down. Just a mental list,” Harry says, squeezing his thigh. “After we had that talk a couple weeks ago, it got me thinking, y’know? Like, stuff I want to do, stuff I want to try. A list.”

“A sex bucket list,” Louis deadpans. “The sexiest bucket list of all time from the kinkiest virgin of all time. I can’t believe you’re the one I lucked into meeting in the toilets, Christ.”

Harry just grins at him, folding his fingers in on themselves to twist them in a corkscrew motion into Louis’ body, a new sensation that makes Louis gasp out an embarrassing noise, his hips coming up off the bed against his will as his cock twitches against his hip, leaking out over his skin. That was...he’s not sure  _ what _ that was, actually, but it was heady and brilliant, the feeling of Harry’s thick fingers twisting into him like that. 

“I think…” He swallows heavily, and Harry’s hand stills against him. “I think I’m ready. Don’t want to come too soon this time.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks him, even as he draws his fingers out, hand reaching to fumble for the condom next to Louis’ head. 

Louis bats his hands away and picks it up himself, tearing the wrapper open carefully and tossing it to the side. He lets his leg fall from Harry’s shoulder as he sits up in front of him, reaching forward to run the tips of his fingers over Harry’s cock, breath catching in his throat when he glances up at Harry through his eyelashes to find him already looking down, eyes trained on Louis’ face rather than his hand. 

“ I’m sure,” Louis says then, licking his lips. “I’m like... _ really _ sure.”

Harry just nods, holding eye contact as Louis uses both hands to roll the condom down his length. He lays back slowly, pulling Harry down as he goes, and Harry falls against him, elbows braced on either side of Louis’ head to hold himself up as Louis angles his chin up and kisses him, long and slow, their tongues sliding together in a slick glide. 

“I want you,” he says again in a whisper, pushing a hand back through Harry’s fluffy curls. “I want you so much.”

Harry nods and offers him a small smile, genuine and real and warm, shaky nerves and overblown teenage bravado stripped away as he reaches down to grip himself at the base with one hand, rubbing the head of his cock over Louis’ rim. Louis lets out a quiet, surprised noise when he feels the blunt tip start to enter him, and it punches a sharp breath of air from his chest when Harry slips in faster than he expected, two inches all at once making him let out a choked-off noise in the back of his throat.

“Okay?” Harry asks as he stills inside him, eyes scanning over his face worriedly as Louis swallows around the tense line of his throat. His voice is shaking slightly, his arms flexing rhythmically with the effort to not just fuck in all at once. “Am I hurting you? We can stop if you want.”

“No, I’m...fuck, you’re just really – you’re big,” Louis says in a breathy voice, wrapping his arms up and around Harry’s shoulders to keep him close, nails digging into his skin. “You’re just really big. I’m okay, just...go slow.”

Harry nods once, his lips trembling and his pupils blown wide in the dark room as he nudges forward more, and Louis can feel his heartbeat rocketing wildly where their chests are pressed together, skin already sticky with a light sheen of sweat. Louis tries his best to relax, angles his hips up to give Harry an easier go of it, his feet coming up to rest on the bed so his legs are bent at the knee.

“Oh my god, you’re so tight,” Harry says, letting out a quiet moan as he slides in by another inch. His mouth is dropped open in awe as he moves forward in increments, mouth gone slack and eyes locked with Louis’ like he can’t quite believe this is actually happening.

“I’ve never actually been fucked before, if you’d forgotten,” Louis tells him, huffing out sharp breaths over Harry’s face. “You’re the first.” He leans up to peck a kiss against his lips, drawing him closer over his body. “The only.”

Harry’s hips jerk forward at that, bottoming out and surprising both of them so that Louis lets out a loud cry into his mouth, back arching up off the bed, and Harry pulls back out slightly, eyes wide. “Sorry, shit, I – ”

“Do it again,” Louis says quickly, cutting him off. He raises a leg so he can push the heel of his foot into the base of Harry’s spine.

“Did I...it didn’t hurt?” Harry asks. “You don’t want me to stop?”

“I swear to god, Harold, I will literally rip your balls off if you stop,” Louis tells him, urging Harry forward again. “I pretty much want you to do that forever.”

“Good, because I didn’t...you feel so good and – ” He cuts off his rambling to push forward again, letting his hips press up against Louis’ for a moment before pulling back out again and shifting forward, punching a noise from Louis’ chest as their bodies slide together.

And it’s awkward, sort of, and really uncoordinated and it doesn’t have any kind of rhythm to it at all, but Louis realizes then, with Harry moving on top of him and Harry inside of him and Harry all over and filling up every single one of his gasping breaths – he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t fucking care. Who would, who  _ could _ , when they have this? Who could possibly ever in their lives care about what other people have to say about something so pure and honest and real? 

It takes that, takes Harry’s trembling hands ghosting over his sides and Harry’s heart beating wild against his for Louis to realize that he doesn’t  _ want _ to wait, can’t even hardly imagine waiting to end things with Hannah. He’s completely, overwhelmingly, breathlessly  _ happy _ when he’s with Harry, and there isn’t a single piece or part of him that’s even remotely ashamed of it.

“I want to be with you for real,” Louis blurts, words falling from his lips before he has the chance to filter himself, before he can even think about cutting it off, and it would be surprising how true it is, except for how he’s known it all along. “I want...I know we’ve never, you know, talked about it, but I want to be…”

“My boyfriend,” Harry says quietly, finishing his sentence for him. He says the word like it’s sacred to him, reverent and soft, and Louis nods, clinging tight to Harry’s shoulders.

“Your boyfriend,” he repeats on a whisper, pressing their foreheads together. “I want to be your boyfriend. Just yours. No one else’s.”

And it’s that, of all things, that makes Harry moan deep in his throat and fall apart, face pressed into Louis’ neck. Not the tightness of Louis’ body or the motion of them together or the feeling of soft lips pressed against his cheek, but Louis’ voice, soft and sincere and open, saying that word over and over and over again into his ear.  _ Boyfriend _ .

Louis doesn't know it yet, but years from now, he'll still associate Harry with fireworks. Not because of any clichéd reason like the way it feels when they kiss and not because of some overplayed song lyric, but because of  _ this _ , because of the distant light of sparks flying over the London Eye and the way Harry's face looks when he comes apart in Louis' arms for the first time. For his own private, secret reasons, tucked away in the back of his memory and safe from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, Harry and fireworks will always make sense in Louis' mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! im on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)!!


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